Guess it fits
Yesterday, I unpacked an old tea pot that had belonged to Em's mother. The newspaper wrapping is dated 1971, when Em was 17 years old. Inside was a scrap of paper, obviously saved my 'mom', and written by my wife to be.
All Things As Miracles
All my life I have tried to think of all things as being miracles. Every breath I draw; every whisper of the wind; every gentle stroke that a snowflake makes on my cheek. There is the feeling of blades of grass cushioning bare souls. And the serenity of a quiet spring amidst the woodland.
I love all miracles dearly but one wins my deepest affection above all else; concerning the senses. This is the ability of hearing; listening to and observing things that many do not hearken. And it was the gentle woodlands that taught me how to use my ears. Have you ever heard ants as they scurry through sand? Or fish breathing? Or clouds moving? Or the music of the Spheres? Or the fact that each specific sound has a multitude of layers reverberating in the vibration?
Once, the greatest ambition in my life was to hear a flower growing.
What a miracle that would be!
Yet another way to experience the magic of growth.